


The Magicians Cage

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Chastity Belt, Cock Ring, M/M, sucking, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-14 22:18:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13599582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: Sherlock has a secret and John finds out about it.





	The Magicians Cage

I’ve been recommended by a friend to visit a flat in the heart of London. Not being able to afford the rents in London I know I have to flat-share.

* * *

         'Yes', I say to myself, upon exiting a taxi and looking up at the tightly fitting, squished apartment building.  
It's narrow, but right where I would want to live. Close to all the wonderful excitements of London.

* * *

I've had my share of flats around the London area but none in the heart. And at my age, thirty-six and single, this is where I want to place myself.

* * *

Climbing the stairs, and upon entering the flat, I see chaos everywhere.  
Lying on the floor, scattered all around are books and newspapers. As well as on the chairs and tables.

* * *

A tall, lanky man steps up to me, “My name is Sherlock Holmes, and sorry for the mess. I just moved in here myself.”  
Walking through the flat it seems warm, inviting, with a huge fireplace, two armchairs pulled up by the fire, a sofa, and desk. There are books, papers, and chemistry paraphernalia all over the kitchen, from the table to the countertop.

         “My name is John Watson, and Mike Stamford said to come see this place. You need a flatmate to share expenses."

         “I know. He sent a text me moments ago,"deep baritone, smooth .

* * *

We shake hands, and I have a better look at him. Skinny is the word, not lanky.

His hair is almost black, curly, with the most impossibly hazel-blue eyes I’ve seen. Quite a looker actually.

* * *

         "If I'm going to move in here with you, is it possible to have some space of my own?” I inquire, a snickering laugh bubbling out of me.  
At which point Sherlock makes a show of cleaning up, throwing some papers from floor to desk. I laugh inside. As strange as he seems I think we'll do well together.

* * *

I don't have much to do to move in. A few books, clothes, and when I inspected the kitchen I notice very little in foodstuffs.  


         "Sherlock, what do you eat? There's nothing either in the frig or cupboards"."

         "I eat out or our landlady brings sustenance"  


         "I'm going out to stock us up. I do cook on occasion. I like to eat, you know," the joking goes over his head.  


         "Eating? If that's what suits you."

Sherlock has already commandeered the bedroom on the main floor, and so the bedroom upstairs becomes mine.

* * *

Sherlock is uncommonly intelligent but very rude. I find myself captivated by him. 

He’s so off the charts that my mainstream life has been turned on its head. Having to figure out from day to day what he's up to, and to keep my short, blonde-haired self and him out of trouble. Being thrown out of restaurants and shows is one of my projects. 

* * *

We've been living together for six months, and Sherlock has a compelling way of reaching conclusions about people that nobody else would be able to do. Where they work, how many children, etc. It's unnatural, almost otherworldly. It's eerie. 

Like someone else, someone once very close to me that I knew years ago in the Army.

* * *

Being a young man I have, of course, occasions when my sexual need is overwhelming. When this occurs I lay on the bed or stand in the bathroom with the water running, and take care of it, trying not to make too many noises.

* * *

On this particular morning, I've showered and dressed in a t-shirt, and worn baggy khaki pants that tie at the waist, no underwear, I head to the kitchen for breakfast

* * *

Sherlock is sitting in his cushioned chair in the sitting room.

         “I’ve eaten. Take something and sit with me. A discussion is needed," all resolute. Wonder what he's done now that I have to smooth over.

* * *

         "John, this is too much. I can't have this!"

He's so, so serious. His whole body not relaxed. Stiff.

         "What are you talking about?" very curious.

         "Your constant focus on your sexual urges most mornings and sometimes even in the evening."

I visibly relax in my chair. That's all?

         "Oh, didn't think it was that bothersome to you. I do try to keep quiet about it,"a slight blush happening on my cheeks. 

         "No, no good."

* * *

He steeples his hands, and I feel something cramping tight around my dick.

         "What the fuck is going on?" 

Untieing the knot and slipping my pants down so only I can see whats going on under them, there's a small steel enclosure all around my now limp dick.

         "Huh? What's happened? What-?"

There's a slight smirk on my flatmate's face.

         "What is this and more importantly how did it get there? And why the hell am I asking you this? Why?"

My hands are shaking, I must admit to being scared, no terrified is the better word.

Pointing down to my pyramided khakis to the strange contraption, I know he still cannot see what is on my dick.

* * *

I'm asking him this question because strangely enough, I know, I know, that this is his doing?

         " All this time living with me I thought you understood, knew. I'm a magician. How do you think I deduce and observe everyone?"

* * *

My face twists into one of befuddlement. He's talking like he really believes he's into magic. A magician, a real honest-to fucking god, magician! Like putting this iron piece around my dick without touching me! 

* * *

But, how did it get onto my person? He didn't wave his hand or wrinkle his nose.

Who cares? The important thing is to get it off me.

* * *

         "I don't care if you're Doctor Strange! Get this off me for Christ's sake", hanging my head in frustration, and understanding he has no clue who that is. His face wrinkled up, going into his memory.

         " Never mind. Forget I mentioned that name, " focusing instead on what's happened to that specific part of my body.

"What are you going to do about getting this ridiculous thing off me?"

         "I would love to. But your actions are irritating me. I cannot achieve what you humans call an orgasm."

That stops me in my crazy thinking. He did say, you humans, and he did say no orgasms.

         "I'll go along with this. That you're not human. That you're a magician."

         " I misspoke. I am human. But I am also a magician."

John Watson, you are living with a complete maniac!

But, on the other hand, how did I get this metal device on me?

Then, I focus on the one piece of information that's more about him.

         “You mean to tell me you can’t have sex?”

         “We can’t have orgasms. It’s a rare occasion when we can.”

         “Wow, are you missing-Okay I think I understand your feelings. No wait, have you had that rare orgasm you mentioned?"

         "No. It's been mentioned by others of my ilk." 

         "It must be hard to hear me and know you can’t. So why the cage around me? Why stop me?”

         "You're a good friend. A very good friend. And-well, there's nothing I can say except its pure emotion."

          " So you clamp me up because I'm a good friend. Wow! Wonder what you'd do if I were your enemy," anger, disgust at what he's done to me.

         "Please John, this is hard enough for me."

I stand up, holding my pants up with one hand, my eyes widening, turn away, turn back to him.

My mouth set in a hard line, I take a step closer, wanting to punch him, my fists balled up.

         "Hard on you? Hard on you? I'm the one with this crap thing on me, and you say it's hard on you. Ha!" spit leaving my mouth, the urge to do something, something damaging is looming large. And Sherlock is the object of it.

         “ Whenever you want, I will cause the implement to disappear, and you can take care of your hunger."

         "Okay, take it off now. Right now."

Ready to down my pants if needed.

         "There's one condition. Each time I would want to view you."

* * *

He hasn't moved from his seat, squirmed slightly, but otherwise calm, mostly seeing the floor in front of him.

         "Watch me? No, you don't get to watch. Get your kicks with someone else. Get this mother fucking thing off me."

         "John, I've tried to ignore it all. Now I comprehend that nothing will work except this. You have only one choice. Let me observe you in the act."

Without another word, without looking at me, the man ups and leaves to his bedroom, slamming the door.

* * *

I stand, dropping my pants, trying to take the metal monster off. I try shaking, pulling, twisting. 

All it's doing is harming my sensitive prick and getting me angrier by the moment.

I punch the table, the wall, throw books around.

* * *

Stopping for breath and picking my pants back up, I call out, "Sherlock, you bastard, come in here!"

Entering the room he's changed to his PJs and robe and reclines in his chair, waiting for me, looking up to assess my reaction.

* * *

Instead of sitting across from him I sit at the desk, turn the back around to straddle the seat.

Arms crossed on the back, I look at him, my temper still bubbling but trying to get control of the situation.

         "If I do this what do I get in return? You're a magician. There has to be something more in it for me other than just a quick pull."

         "Ah. Knew my John was a smart one. Knew you'd get around to the 'what's in it for me' aspect." 

Now his eyes gleam, those hazel-blue eyes, his mouth twisted into a smile.

         "Of course, you fool. Has to be a give and take here. And right now you've got all the good cards in your hand."

         "You might enjoy it more if someone, me, is an onlooker. Or what else would make it good for you?"

* * *

Surveying his body, his good looks my face lights up with a mental picture of where this can lead.

         "I need more clarification as to rules."

His face brightens up, even more, becoming aware that I'm on the edge of seeing the positive possibilities.

         "Ask me what you crave and I'll see what can be done."

         "Can I do it more than once in a day, I mean wank off."

         "Yes. As many times as your body can take it."

Absorbed fully in my questions, but still so aware of this metal piece on me, I want to keep my impatience, my annoyance tamped down.

* * *

         "Wait, what if I want to wank in my office? Do I have to be within your visual range?"

         "No. As a magician, I can wave it off even if you're out of my sight or hearing," his hands fluttering outwards.

         "How do I let you know, then?"

         "John, It's so easy with today's technology. Just send me a text."

He removes his mobile phone from his robe pocket and flips it around in his hand a few times, expressing amusement on his face, his smile a brief one.

         "But that means you won't see me- oh, I get it."

Thrusting his mobile out to show me, "Today's technology. You use your phone camera."

* * *

         "If I wanted you to help me, to touch me, would you do it?" now my turn, a chortle sliding out when I notice his face in doubt.

I see the hesitation, the play on his face, his emotions uncommonly out in the open.

* * *

         "I don't see why not. If that doesn't disturb you, having a male fondling you."

         "If I close my eyes, it might not matter at all. Worth a try, don't you think?"  
That question goes unanswered.

         "Anything else before I go to bed?" beginning to rise, but sitting back down when I indicate with a shake of my head that I'm not finished yet.

* * *

         "What if I want to shag someone, a woman of course."

         "That becomes a problem. I don't want to watch you with another person, female or male. But for certain occasions, I could make allowances.”

         “Oh thanks and what would those occasions be?” with a sarcastic bent to my voice.

But a fool notion springs into my mind. Something I've missed popped into my head.

         " Wait a minute! Why is it so important to have a look-see, if you don't get off on it?"

         "It stimulates the amygdala in my brain, and I get a certain amount of pleasure out of that."

         " A certain pleasure but no orgasm?"

         "No. It does stir me, move me throughout my body. Almost as an electric current."

         " Explain further why you can't have orgasms?"

         "It involves the brain center. As magicians, we have more neurons, and that leaves physical intimacy out."

         "How do you have children?"

         " Simple John, we're milked when we desire to spawn."

         "No, touching needed I guess. Machinery is involved?"

         "You've assumed correctly."

* * *

I wipe my hair back with my hand, over my eyes, bewildered, still thinking something to this is missing. If Sherlock hasn't found it, then I certainly won't.

On impulse I go to ask a personal question. One I don't expect him to answer, but one I'll ask anyway.

         "One more question and then you can go. Yea, go and leave me in this awful condition,”pausing, reflecting. Do I want to ask this question? Yes!

         “Have you ever at any time been associated with someone who you wanted so badly that you thought it might be possible?"

I see Sherlock slump into his armchair, declining to raise his face to mine.

         " That's a particular line of questioning that is not up for discussion."

         "Hmm," I observe to myself, that was a telling answer. I'll have to pursue that further.

* * *

The rest of the day is very tense and awkward. We don't speak of it, but it's on my mind all the time. Of course, it is, I'm the one feeling the weight of it

* * *

There's one item that has me bugged. Why, why did I even mention or think of Sherlock touching my dick?

It seemed to erupt from my mouth without any forethought.

* * *

To myself, I remember the relationship with a particular male, a particular Major, while in the army. That's a personal subject that has never been uttered to anyone.

* * *

Every morning I tamp down my desire to wank off my erect morning dick. Showers, John! That's the best.

* * *

Even the idea of a quick shag with a woman is not any fun now.

The spontaneity is gone.  


I always wondered how he knew, upon my arrival back at the flat, that I had been fucking a woman. He knew precisely where, when and how I shagged.

Magician shit!

* * *

One night Greg, a good friend and I are out at our usual pub. Drinks are flowing hard and heavy, and we're not worried about driving. We've both taken cabs to get here.

Greg is upset because his wife, who he divorced three years ago, is giving him heat about support for his kid in college. I'm ticked because I haven't gotten myself off in weeks.

* * *

         "John, do you ever think about, ah, well, have you ever done it with, you know what I mean," his voice slurred.

         "Ha, done it with the magician, you mean?'

His face screwed up, head back, staring at me as if I have three eyes.

         "Huh? What the fuck are you saying? I'm asking if you ever did it with a man, any man? What's a magician got to do with it?" he quizzically looks at me.

         " Oh, yea, yea, you mean that. Yes, in the Army, a real hunk."

Wow! I just spilled out my deepest secret. I must be over the top drunk.

* * *

         "I also did, John, before marriage. He took my cherry so to speak. I was seventeen, and he was thirty-one. Loved it. Lasted four years."

         "Interesting experience. I mean, so different, you know?"

         " Yea. But society says,'no same-sex' so it's hard to maintain that."

         "Someday Greg, we'll have to discuss more when we're sober. You're the first one I've ever told."

         "What was that stupid remark about a magician?"

         "Never mind. Not talking straight. Too much drink in me."

The pub is closing, and as we pay the tab, there seems to be an unspoken agreement between us, heading to Greg's flat.

* * *

There's no hesitation as we enter his bedroom and our clothes begin to fly off.

I suddenly catch Greg looking down, horror in his eyes seeing the iron around my dick.

Oh shit, I forgot, in my drunken stupor, about this.

         "A chastity belt? Are you fucking kidding me? Sherlock has you in one of those?"

         "No, Greg, you don't get it."

Greg falls on the bed, laughing hysterically.

         "Never thought that you would allow that fucker to do this to you."

         "Greg, listen to me! Let me explain."

* * *

I sit on the bed, both of us naked, and relate all that’s occurred. 

He's incredulous, doesn't believe me about him being a magician and even shakes his head in disbelief over the fact that Sherlock and I have not fucked, even once.

* * *

         "I don't care what kind of story you make up. This is a joke. Can't be true."

         "It is true, I tell you."

         "I have an idea. Text him and tell him you're at the clinic and need a wank. I'll watch out of sight. If what you say is right let him see you come, and later, if it's still off, we can have a go."

I’m still inebriated enough to go for this.

I text Sherlock.

          _At my office, drunk, want to get one-off and have you watch_

          _Do you take me for a fool! You're with Greg._

          _Sherlock, you dick, get this off of me!_

There are no more pings on my phone.

* * *

         "John do you want me to use your ass?" as Greg's hand moves under my ass cheeks.

         "No, sorry, but this has sobered me up."

         "Shit, John. I feel sorry for you. He's got you all screwed up. But still, don't believe your story about him being a magician."

He's giggling uncontrollably, and I stand up and start to dress.

         "Don't tell anyone about this mess."

He shakes his head, and we both dress and I take a cab home.

* * *

Figuring Sherlock would be asleep I'm surprised to see him sitting in his chair, one lamp on, the rest of the light coming from the street.  


I freeze, looking at him, trying to ease the drink from my head.

         "Sherlock, I can't do this. Can't talk. It's almost daylight, and I need sleep."

         "I ask you to let me watch, and you haven't masturbated in weeks. You can, however, think of fornicating with Greg, of all people?"

His voice is quiet. An octave lower than his typical. But fury and disappointment there.

         "Let's talk tomorrow, I mean later today."

I pull myself up the stairs to my bedroom and flop down without undressing.

* * *

Morning comes, and I have to work. After a good shower, and time to dress I head down to the kitchen to make my coffee and toast and find Sherlock is not at home. 

* * *

During lunch I text him.

          _See you dinner time?_

No answer.

* * *

The flat is quiet when I arrive, and all I want for dinner is some eggs and toast. I've finished eating and washing up the dishes I hear Sherlock's footsteps.

* * *

         "John, can you come in here please?"

He's very calm sounding now, not like his anger in the night.

Into the sitting room and he's sitting in his chair leaning forward.

* * *

Whatever he's going to say I put my hand out in front of me, halting him. 

I'm furious again. Feel so manipulated by him.

Without thought, I unzip and pull out my dick.

         "Take this thing off and watch me. Watch me pull my dick and envy me. Go ahead. Sit and deduce what emotions I'm going through that you can't. Too bad you don't have telepathy. Or do you? This way you can also feel what goes on when I come." 

My voice is angry, with a touch of disgust as to what I'm doing. What I've just said to him.  


I can tell by his reaction that I’ve hit him hard, hit him in his emotions.

The iron piece is off. I scooch down in my chair, my trousers around my ankles. I caress the orbs of my balls. Never been this exposed before. Never done this in front of someone without a mutual give and take.

My motion becomes quick and precise on my now heavy dick. I spit on my hands to lubricate and slide them, the motion swift and hard.  


His eyes lock on my dick, mine on his eyes.

Moaning, my hips rocking up and down, my eyes never leave off his face.  


When I come, I spurt on my stomach, heaving with the sheer power of it.

* * *

Leaning back in his chair he's all tensed up. 

* * *

He finally stands and comes back with a flannel for me to clean up.

I grab the flannel, wipe and throw it in his face.

I hang my head, lift my pants and without another word go into my bedroom.

* * *

I treated Sherlock like shit just now. Why was I so willing to have Greg fondle me and not Sherlock? Why haven't I let Sherlock see me enjoying my sexuality when that's all he can have?

* * *

Greg texts later the next day.

          _How are things going_

          _Greg, crap_

          _Sorry I laughed. But I can't believe-_ I don't even finish looking at the text.

* * *

I stay mostly in my room when home. When I’m near Sherlock, the both of us speak in as little words as needed.

* * *

Greg and I decide to declare a truce and are out drinking with some friends one evening.  


He leans to me and in a whisper,"So, still got that damn thing on you?"  


I detect a smirk in his words.

         "Fuck off, Greg," I state low and with a growl.

         "At least I can," moves to talk with another of the friends, then leans back.

         "John," his hand touches my arm. "Forgive me that shit remark. I can't understand why you are still with him. If you need-"

I don't let him finish but walk to the bathroom and leave the pub early. Without saying goodbyes.

Because that's exactly how I am beginning to feel.

* * *

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John's laptop is open, on the coffee table, and while he's with Greg, I find it imperative to seek more about him.  


Something is missing. Some puzzle piece that I haven't been able to put together.

John is drawing further and further away from me. I can't get him to discuss anything. I'm thinking of asking him to vacate the flat.

* * *

I've taken his laptop on many occasions, which never fails to infuriate him, but this time I need to dig further.  


As a peruse his folders I again come to the puzzling one. The porn folder, why his porn is mostly men.

One folder is specifically army men partially dressed, even nude. He assuredly and vociferously states he's not gay.

But then, off out of the way of the main folders is one I've missed, one I have overlooked, with just a 'J' for a name, with pictures of the same man over and over.

One distinct photo. One shot of this man and John has me sitting up straight. It's entirely different from the others.  


Both men are straddling a motorcycle. John is in front, leaning slightly back into the man.  


The man is very muscular, much taller than John, dark haired. They are not wearing clothes other than gloves and boots. You can't see their lower body parts, but it’s an erotic picture, never the less. It looks like it could be on a calendar.

Who is this man and why hasn't John talked about him? It's apparent to me that they were lovers. 

* * *

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The minute I step into the flat I understand that something is different.

Sherlock is sitting in his chair; eyes turned on me.

I see my laptop open on the table and let out a growl.

But then, my heart stops, my body refuses to move. For there on the laptop, facing me, is--that picture.

I hear a moan from my lips and attempt to grab the machine, but Sherlock stops my hand.

* * *

         "You fuck, you damn mother fucker. Why can't you stay out of my business!. Damn Sherlock," as my world crashes around me.

I sit heavily on the sofa and turn the laptop towards me. My eyes fill up.  


It's all coming crashing down on me.

Ever so softly, his voice reaches me, "who is he, John, tell me all about him."

         "I haven't looked at that folder in years." 

Taking a breath, "Can I get some tea first? Give me a moment to collect myself."

'Yes, it's time John'. I'm taking it out in the open. I'm going to talk about it, about him, thinking to myself.

* * *

I take my chair and pull the laptop onto the small table, tea in hand. Looking at it with cloudy eyes.

* * *

         "I met him, James Sholto, early on in Afghanistan. He was a major, very hard to work with. No patience with people. As you can see he was a big strapping man. He worked out regularly.  
What brought us together was a book. I had been reading The Picture of Dorian Grey. Do you know it, Sherlock?"

         "No, I don't."

         "Oscar Wilde wrote it. About a man who trades his soul to keep himself young, good-looking forever. He has a painting made of him as a young man, and all his sins are reflected on that portrait and not on him. He's ageless."  


I stop to remember, remember those days.

         "Wilde was a known homosexual and was sent to jail for gross indecency. He had a love affair with some muckety-muck lord."

* * *

         "Oh, Sherlock!" My hands go over my eyes, and finally, move them away. Pain showing.

* * *

         "We began by discussing the book. And one day, while in his tent, he kisses me.  
Of course, I pull away, stand up ready to leave, when he grabs hold of my arm and sits me on his bed next to him. I can remember it like it was happening now. He kisses me again.  
All the floodgates open. Sherlock, I didn't think, didn't care! All I wanted was his beautiful body. And I got it. He was magical. He could see things like you. We met whenever we could. However, we could.

The memories, the torrent of emotion passing through me.

Sherlock stands, walks to the window. I pause. Collecting my feelings.

         "It continued for five months when James told me he had to leave me. He was jeopardizing both our futures. We both cried. I loved him. He transferred out, and I never heard from him again."

Tears fall steadily from my eyes.

* * *

The silence is potent. 

         "How did this picture happen?" Sherlock finally asks me, his voice not cutting me down. Calm.

A smile drifts across my features.

         "A major from another company had a long-term relationship with a man. It was a well-kept secret from everyone.  
A letter was in James' mail by accident. Without looking at the address, he tore it open.  
It was a love letter to Mark. He handed it to Mark, and revealed that he and I were also together."

* * *

A deep sigh emanates from me.

         "The four of us went on leave to a small town in the desert. No one knew us, and no one cared. And that's where the picture taking happened. I had ones of Mark and Dan but erased those. I couldn't delete James and I. That was such a wonderful time in my life."

* * *

         "And you are still in love with James?"

         "Was, Sherlock. It's just the memory now. I'm over it. It's just a sad memory."

         "Why then the thunderous outcries of not gay?"

         "Sherlock, I can't go through the secrecy, the disgusted looks, all the things involved with being homosexual. That was so hard. To keep my love secret.  
And yes, you can tell me it's legal, it's more open now, but the stigma is still there."

* * *

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.  


         "Sherlock, do you mind if I stop. I'm mentally exhausted."

         "Go, John, sleep well. If you need me call."

* * *

The next day I have off from work and wake at a leisurely pace. I text Sherlock. 

          _Come watch me_

I could hear him bounding up the stair to my room. I chuckle.

The iron comes off, he takes a seat at the foot of my bed, and as I begin to touch my cock, he leans over, looks me in the eyes, and takes hold of my extended shaft.

With a big intake of breath,"yes, yes oh shit, feel me, rub your hand on me, make me come."

My liquid spills over his hand and my stomach. This time when he brings a flannel over I let him wipe us both.

* * *

         "Let me shower and dress. And thank you."

         " No, thank you. I'll have the tea and toast on."  


That's different! Sherlock never does anything in the kitchen.

* * *

Once we eat our breakfast, Sherlock asks me into the sitting room.

         "I find something strange, John; you keep mentioning the word 'magical' about James. Explain?"

         "He was able to deduce like you, not as well, but he also had the same aura as you. The same rudeness and disgust with most people."

I see Sherlock stand and pace the room.

And then it hits me!

* * *

         "Oh my god, Sherlock, he also steepled his hands when thinking, just as you do. Could he have been-"

He abruptly stops, turns to look at me and sits cross-legged in his chair.

         "You say you had sex with him. But he couldn't have had an orgasm if he was a magician."

         "But he did. I saw him come, and, well, swallowed him a few times."

A bit embarrassed by that statement.

We both stay very still. Me thinking of James and Sherlock.

* * *

         "John, I have a confession to make. I had contact with a man. Not as good as you though."

         "You don't have to do this. Confess to me."

         "Yes, I have a puzzle to solve, John. And talking about it might help."

Up and moving around the room, hands steepled, notices it, he laughs.

Sitting down, taking one of those deep breaths we all do when ready to confess something, he starts.

* * *

         "In university. We had classes together, and Victor was just as brilliant as I. He had a quick sense of humor and a talent for playing with people. And he played me. He seduced me with his knowledge, his smile, his total obsession with knowing what I wanted.  
And one day it happened. In his dorm, when all the students were in class.  
After that, we met in sleazy hotels, in closets, where ever. He was cruel. He took what he wanted and how he wanted it. Sometimes beating me.

* * *

I stare in horror. Can't believe that Sherlock would allow such a thing.

         "Yes John. I had an obsession. I couldn't get enough of him. It was a drug; I never could climax. He tried everything including cruelty."

Pausing to get a drink of tea and pouring for me, he takes up the narrative again.

* * *

         "My older brother, Mycroft found out and forced his father into taking him out of the university and far away. He left and just like your James I never heard from him again."

* * *

         " I bet you were glad."

         "No. I turned to drugs myself, hoping that would help me. It didn't of course. I never could climax, whether on my own or with someone."

* * *

         "Okay, so we have this dichotomy. Me, with a male partner and having great sex. And you with one, not having sex. So there's still the question of what is the difference."

* * *

Of a sudden, his face lights up, he jumps out of his seat, parading around the room, then sits, no falls into the armchair and leans toward me. His excitement so evident with every part of his body moving.

* * *

         "John, I've found the answer to my, no, our problem."

I feel the iron prick disappear from my dick.

Pulling his chair up against mine, our legs touching, he takes my hands in his.

         "John," in the softest, sexiest voice I've heard from Sherlock,"look at me, really, deeply, profoundly, deduce what you see."

His features soften, eyes tear up, face relaxes into pure adoration. For me!

And as I catch a glimpse of the immense love I sway, dizziness overtakes me.

         "You love me, Sherlock. And, oh how good this feels to get it out. You see, I love you too. Yes, yes, I really do."

         "John, it's love. Don't you see? I never loved Victor. It was sex only for him and me. Your James, a magician, loved you and you reciprocated.  
"It's love John, the magic potent."

Sherlock stands, still holding my hands, pulling me up, "Oh Sherlock, then let the magic begin."


End file.
